Pharmaceutical Negotiator - Chapter 25

After reporting on the progress, Liu Yujing brought the chief director and the cameras and began the three day shoot.

Originally, they had planned to film the actual scene of patients watching the play, but to simplify the shooting process and for the convenience of the camera crew, they borrowed an empty stage, where actors would take the place of the patients and simulate the scene of a play.

The young actor playing the patient was seven years old, had filmed many commercials, and was considered experienced.

The introductory first part of the propaganda film had been completed. After a few days of rest, today was the day to shoot the important scene of watching the play.

Typically, small-scale propaganda films like this are shot continuously, and the original schedule was only three days. However, the shoot was paused for a few days in between, and since no one had raised any objections, Zhang Sitan decided to visit the set.

After greeting Liu Yujing, the crew quickly sent a car to pick her up.

The sky, washed clean as if by water, was dotted with a few wisps of white. Bird flocks rarely flew across the sky, and the wind remained still. Everything was static yet flowing.

Zhang Sitan was wearing a white long dress today, made of Tencel linen, with a naturally textured fabric that resembled water ripples, like fish swimming through, splashing up cool droplets.

Her eye shadow today was a matte orange brown, applied over a large area within the eye socket. The lower lash line makeup was not heavily done, but well blended. Seen from afar, the corners of her eyes shimmered, and seen up close, her eyes held the charm of spring cicadas and emerald willows.

The automatic door of the commercial van slid back slowly, and Zhang Sitan and Qi An stepped out of the car.

The set was very lively, even noisy. Several groups of people were gathered here; other crews had also come to borrow the location.

Power strips were stretched everywhere on the floor, softboxes were placed haphazardly, and crew members wearing vests had walkie talkie wires clipped to their ears, running back and forth between various locations.

Qi An followed closely behind Zhang Sitan, afraid she would lose sight of her in the crowd.

Liu Yujing had mentioned on WeChat earlier that she would come to meet them, but she was nowhere to be found. Zhang Sitan pressed her thumb on her phone screen and typed out a message to send to Liu Yujing.

Standing in one place would be in the way, so Zhang Sitan led Qi An into the theater.

They went down the steps and walked to the back. Large sections of the auditorium were empty, and she and Qi An took seats.

The venue Liu Yujing had rented was of medium size. The stage curtain was pulled to one side, and a red carpet covered the stage, which was littered with various props and equipment boxes, making it hard to find a place to step.

The lighting in the theater was dim, and the red seats lowered people’s gaze. The stage lights above were not turned on, only the outermost circle of small spotlights on the ceiling was lit.

“Sister Sitan, why can’t I see any celebrities here?” Qi An sat on the chair, back poker straight, craning her neck to look at the stage.

“Small-budget propaganda film,” Zhang Sitan sat next to her, explaining plainly. The biggest star in the entire crew was probably that seven year-old child actor.

She wore Chanel’s woody fragrance today, like a small white cat with velvet paws licking itself on the grass after the rain.

The scent dispersed among Zhang Sitan’s hair. The air circulation in the theater was poor, and the seats were close together, so the fragrance permeated the air.

When she left home in the morning, Zhang Sitan had just sprayed this fragrance on her wrists. At that time, the smell was strong. The freshness after the rain rushed to the nose, instantly transporting one to a primeval rainforest, surrounded by lush trees and the cries of mountain apes.

Qi An had been following Zhang Sitan all along, and her nose had become accustomed to the smell, so she couldn’t detect it much. Now that they were in the theater, the scent was broken and reassembled by the enclosed space, making it noticeable again.

She took a deep breath, sniffing greedily, and decided she would wear this fragrance tomorrow too.

A girl wearing a cyan vest and braided pigtails walked towards them, carefully balancing two cups of coffee, one in each hand, moving sideways along the narrow gap between the rows of seats.

Zhang Sitan looked down at her phone. She had just sent a message to Liu Yujing saying “We’ve arrived.” Liu Yujing replied after a long time, saying she was also rushing over and that an assistant would help greet them first.

This girl in front of her was probably the assistant.

She looked very delicate, with no makeup on her face, and her skin was a bit dark, indicating a healthy state. However, there were dark circles under her eyes, suggesting she hadn’t gotten much sleep recently.

“Are you Team Leader Zhang from the Medical Insurance Bureau?” the girl asked as she approached.

When Zhang Sitan confirmed, a look of joy appeared on her face. She handed them the coffee: “General Manager Liu is still on the way. I’m a production assistant, my name is Cheng Jue.”

The girl named Cheng Jue held up her work badge for Zhang Sitan to see, and Zhang Sitan nodded.

The rich aroma of coffee wafted out from the small opening in the cup lid. Zhang Sitan merely held the cup body without drinking.

The equipment boxes on the stage were moved away, and the red carpet on the floor was pulled taut by staff holding the edges.

“Have the actors arrived?” Zhang Sitan asked Cheng Jue.

“Qi Baihong is still on the set of her last project and hasn’t rushed over yet,” Cheng Jue sat next to Zhang Sitan, her legs neatly together.

This Qi Baihong was the child star. She had shot a milk powder commercial before she was one year old, and her name suggested her parents’ high hopes for her.

“Then can we still shoot today?”

“That… I don’t know.” Cheng Jue hesitated, rubbing the back of her hands together. “Qi Baihong has too many schedules. The previous times we paused shooting were because she was too busy with two projects, so we had to put our side on hold first.”

Upon hearing this, Zhang Sitan nodded slightly, understanding the situation, and concealing the fatigue in her eyes.

“So the whole crew is just waiting for her here? Will she compensate for the costs incurred during the break?” Qi An leaned towards Cheng Jue, asking a sharp question.

Cheng Jue also looked at Qi An, her face showing a mix of urgency and confusion, ready to offer a defense. Zhang Sitan put her hand on the armrest and gently patted Qi An, speaking first.

“The crew has to bear a considerable cost for every day of stoppage. Our original shooting plan was only three days, but it has been stopped for at least two days in between. Although Qidong is paying for it, if we want to cooperate, we must try to maximize the benefits.”

“Yes, I will report Team Leader Zhang’s thoughts to General Manager Liu,” Cheng Jue said, relieved. She had initially thought Zhang Sitan was going to make things difficult for her, but it seemed she was a reasonable person.

“I’ll communicate with General Manager Liu. You can sit here and rest for a while; your dark circles are quite severe.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Cheng Jue gratefully waved her hand at Zhang Sitan.

“It’s fine, just sit here.” Although Zhang Sitan’s own face was full of fatigue, she still had a smile on her lips, making it hard for others to tell.

Cheng Jue relaxed, leaning back against the chair’s backrest, her body sinking slightly with her breath.

The costumed actors were instructed to go on stage and find their marks. A large guqin (zither) was moved to the oblique side of the stage and placed on a guqin table. The table was made of black catalpa wood, with a dovetail joint structure.

The audio engineer adjusted the music. The gentle music burst open all around, jarring the ears for a moment, and then became melodious.

Since the main actor hadn’t arrived, these actors could only shoot some foreground shots and close-ups first.

The camera dolly circled the front of the stage, capturing the actors’ swirling skirts, exaggerated eyeliner, and soulful glances.

Liu Yujing finally arrived, albeit late.

There were no parking spaces left in front of the venue. She got out of the car herself, and the driver circled around to the back of the theater to look for a parking spot.

“General Manager Liu.” Zhang Sitan and Qi An, led by Cheng Jue, came to the entrance.

She exchanged a brief handshake with Liu Yujing. The light outside was bright, making people’s eyes feel weary.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting for so long,” Liu Yujing apologized to Zhang Sitan, inviting them into the theater.

In the cool space, the director sat in front of the monitor, arms crossed, watching the screen. On the stage, the cinematographer and lighting technician focused their attention on an actor playing the sheng (reed pipe instrument).

The actor’s stage makeup was very heavy, with a large area of eye shadow blending from the corner of the eye to the temporal bone. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she held the instrument, tilting her head slightly, allowing a clear, melodious sound to flow out, like a gurgling stream.

The erhu and guzheng (Chinese zither) in the back joined in, and a beam of light shone onto the stage.

Aerophones have more penetrating power. The girls with gold makeup at the front of the stage moved gracefully. Their dark-patterned silk skirts slowly unfolded with the music, like a blooming peony flower when the actors leaped and landed, spreading its petals in a splash of crimson.

Zhang Sitan stood below the stage, quietly watching an actor on stage in luxurious silk and satin, with faux nails tied to her fingers, her high ponytail swinging behind her head as she leaned over the guzheng with passion.

Qi An held her phone horizontally to take pictures.

It wasn’t until the actors withdrew that Qi Baihong finally arrived.

She didn’t have an agent; her mother handled all her affairs.

As she entered, the director also stood up from in front of the monitor. Everyone watched him greet her and stood aside to observe.

Liu Yujing also stepped forward to greet her. Zhang Sitan was only visiting, and the shoot was not under the purview of their bureau, so she didn’t approach.

Qi Baihong’s mother looked like a very shrewd woman, with a shoulder bag and a makeup bag in her hand. She protected Qi Baihong and headed to the dressing room backstage.

Qi Baihong had just come from her previous set, so she was already wearing makeup. However, she was now playing a patient and needed a pale, fragile look. The original foundation was too sheer and needed to be removed and replaced with a different shade.

It was already almost eleven o’clock. The child actor was small and prone to hunger. After a brief rehearsal and a camera test, they would surely break for lunch and rest. Zhang Sitan was a bit worried they wouldn’t finish, unsure how much longer the delay would last.

The originally scheduled three-day shoot had been repeatedly delayed.

After the makeup test, Qi Baihong emerged from backstage with her mother. A wheelchair prepared in advance was pushed out, and Qi Baihong obediently sat down. Her mother wrapped a blanket around her legs.

The makeup artist was skilled at judging the right amount of makeup. She didn’t apply a large amount of white paint to Qi Baihong, even though many apply sickly makeup with extreme paleness as the main focus.

Although she did use a foundation shade one degree lighter than Qi Baihong usually wore, the makeup artist also blended another color herself, lightly dotting it under Qi Baihong’s eyes. The slightly dirty yellow color instantly made her look frail.

Qi Baihong remained silent throughout; all communication was between her mother and the director. She had experienced this situation no less than ten times and was skilled enough to know she just needed to follow instructions.

The stagehand had just slightly cleared the floor, creating a path for the wheelchair to be smoothly pushed.

The actress playing Qi Baihong’s mother wore a cotton white T-shirt. According to the script, she only needed to push Qi Baihong into the scene. The camera would only capture half of her shoulder, and the white clothes would make the frame cleaner.

The instructor guided Qi Baihong through her marks: where to enter the frame, and even the exact second to nod and the second to look up were accounted for.

The director looked at the image on the monitor and shouted into the walkie-talkie: “Make the eye makeup a bit heavier, a bit heavier.”

The makeup artist approached with the palette, using her pinky finger to apply and blend color at the corner of Qi Baihong’s eye. The camera “eats” makeup heavily, especially with the matte gray eyeshadow being used, so applying it heavily would look just right on camera.

The actors on the stage had all left for lunch backstage. Therefore, Qi Baihong had to face an empty stage and imagine the orchestra music and the dancing.

Her hands were clasped together, resting gently on her lap. She looked up at the stage. Her head shape was excellent. Her straight long hair was tucked behind her ears, and only one spotlight above was on, illuminating her surroundings and casting a shadow across her face.

The director finalized the last shot here: “It’s acceptable. But the actor’s eyes look a bit dull. We need to portray a patient who is full of hope and positive energy.”

“When you look at the performance on stage, your eyes should have anticipation and wonder. Think of yourself as an explorer. Your eyes need to convey something, understand?”

“How can someone be positive and hopeful when they’re sick?” Qi Baihong spoke her first words of the day.

Her voice was indeed pleasant, clear and crisp, with the unique tone of a child.

Her question momentarily stunned the director. Qi Baihong’s mother walked up, unscrewed a thermos, and gave Qi Baihong water, explaining:

“Think about what the director said again, and go eat first.”

Zhang Sitan wondered if a seven-year-old child could understand the word “think about,” only to see Qi Baihong get out of the wheelchair and follow her mother backstage.

With the main actor gone, there was no need for everyone else to stay here.

Liu Yujing smoothed things over, inviting everyone to collect their lunch boxes.

The crew’s boxed meals catered to Muslim friends. Although not labeled “halal,” the food did not contain pork.

There were two salted baked prawns, a dish of chicken stewed with potatoes, and one of lettuce stir-fried with fungus.

Liu Yujing invited Zhang Sitan to eat in the backstage office, but Zhang Sitan declined, saying she felt it was better to sit in the theater and eat with everyone else.

Liu Yujing didn’t go backstage either and stayed to eat with them.

“General Manager Liu must be very busy, having to come and supervise the shoot,” Zhang Sitan asked casually, holding the lunch box.

“I am quite busy. We originally only allocated three days, I didn’t expect it to drag on for so long.” She had rushed here immediately after finishing a company meeting, running back and forth between two places.

Zhang Sitan looked across the straight aisle and saw Cheng Jue sitting cross-legged on the floor, rapidly shoveling food into her mouth from the container.

“Well, let’s hurry it up,” she retracted her gaze and looked at Liu Yujing. “It would be best if we could wrap up tomorrow.”

“I think so too,” Liu Yujing nodded to her, raising her wrist to check her watch. “It’s almost one o’clock. I’ll have someone call her from backstage at two.”

“Alright,” Zhang Sitan nodded, glanced at Qi An who was quietly eating beside her, and placed a peeled prawn into her lunch container.